Quotes About Stone

Winter is our time. They shut up their cities for the cold months. They put their horses in stables and sit around great fires in enormous houses of stone. If you want a bearskin, do you attack in summer when it is strong and fast, or cut its throat as it sleeps?

He threw the rock into the river and the little waves on the surface shall spread far away.

I wish to say to you that the life of an enlightened people and a vibrant nation cannot be measured by the life of an individual. A successful person is one who manages to lay down a new stone, a brick that would help firm up his nation's existence.

A wedding ritual in my part of Wales. A man and woman exchange vows with a stone held between their joined hands. After the ceremony, they go together to cast the stone into a lake, and the earth itself becomes part of their oath. From then on, they are bound to each other for as long as the world exists.

I decide that we could always indulge ourselves later. First, I had a soul-eating stone of power to poke with a stick.

Men of genius are often dull and inert in society, as the blazing meteor when it descends to earth is only a stone.

The first wild birds of the morning Are breaking out of the trees. And now the night is dying On the sharp edge of the stone. Let's find a corner of darkness Where I will love you always, And I won't care about people Or the poison that they spread.

of processing and analyzing: two hours of sleep. Cost of thinking: two more hours of sleep. Cost of giving the elusive more to the insanely sexy Stone Wilder: priceless.

the Stone Table [was] a place that served as the OK Corral for the Faerie Courts when they decided to engage in diplomacy by means of murdering anyone on the other team.

Grimm frowned. "Ah. Um. Am I in any danger?" "You're dead as a stone, man!" "I am?" "Yes. No, actually, not even remotely, but for purposes of this conversation, yes.

Writing writhed across the surface of the stone, runes that looked a little familiar. Norse, maybe? Some of them looked more like Egyptian. They seemed to take something from several different sources, leaving them unreadable.

I went to Newport not long ago, to see the great stone fin-de-siècle "cottages" in which certain rich Americans once summered. The places loom still along Bellevue Avenue and Cliff Walk, one after another, silk curtains frayed but gargoyles intact, monuments to something beyond themselves; houses built, clearly, to some transcendental point. No one had made clear to me exactly what that point was.

I can smell her perfume, something flowery, too strong in this enclosed darkness. I wonder if this is temptation. If so, I am stone.

This was something she would keep hidden within herself, maybe in place of the knot of pain and anger she had been carrying under her breastbone...a security blanket, an ace up her sleeve. She might never use it, but she would always feel its presence like a swelling secret stone, and that way when she let go of the rage, she would not feel nearly as empty.

Every little pebble in the stream believes itself to be a precious stone.

Did it really happen as the legend said? Did they in truth dance here? Were they struck down in their defiance and turned to stone, to stand on this spot as the centuries passed? How fortunate they were! Sudden death was preferable to a lingering one. I thought of the seventh – the one who had been dragged to the hollow wall, the one who was shut in to die; and I was filled with a momentary melancholy.

So like a bit of stone I lie Under a broken tree. I could recover if I shrieked My heart's agony To passing bird, but I am dumb.

Real suffering bravely borne, melts even a heart of stone. Such is the potency of suffering. And there lies the key to Satyagraha.

Death is the stone into which our oblivion hardens.

fot he sin of the idolater is not that he worships stone, but that he worships one stone over others.

Goliath fell to a slingshot and a stone. and the Library is a lumbering giant, dying of its own arrogance; it has to change or fall. We have the tools. The will. The knowledge.

Not all knowledge is books. Those out there, they're history in stone. Men carved them. Men sweated in this sun to put them there, to make their city more beautiful. Who are you to say what's worthy for men to see today, or tomorrow?

The oubliette, I was not a mouse, I was a vampire, I was a blind vampire who would heal, of course, eventually, and see again. Stop, I told myself. I drew in a deep breath and smelled ancient death, crushed weeds, rotting metal, stone. I had no idea where the oubliette was located. I was simply at the bottom of it, standing in cold, filthy water and thinking that this time, my favorite slippers were well and truly ruined. Such a pity.

Built in the 1940s, her small house is a sturdy structure of stone.